Persuasion in the Pantry [Maid for More #1]

Chapter 47: Part 2- Death is only the Beginning

The Dowager Duchess of Bexley tapped the door once with the silver topped handle of her husband's cane and the double doors of the church's inner sanctum swung open. The patterned ceiling of Saint Margaret's Church hung low with golden leafed chandeliers whose soft glow illuminated the path before Verushka. Silken bows of white were draped between the pews of waiting guests divided by a carpet of rose petals in the softest hues of pink and white. Rays from the stained glass windows filtered through the upper galleys to illuminate the congregation below and in a solitary stream of untempered light waited the seventh Duke of Bexley. He wore a long coat of midnight blue with a high stiff collar that curved around the snowy folds of his intricate cravat. Where other men dressed with simple refinement, the debonair dandy of the ton chose an ivory waistcoat buttoned with sapphires over the sculptured breadth of his torso and long pressed pantaloons tucked into gleaming polished boots fresh from lamp-black.

Verushka had seen him for so long as her employer then as her betrothed and now the once pantry maid witnessed him as the bated crowd did. The Duke of Bexley was the jewel in the crown of London society. He was every man's icon and every women's dream. And he was all hers. The story written just for her.

Cain stood tall, his eyes unwavering as Verushka took her first steps towards him. Tentatively, as if she wore Cendrillon's glass slippers she placed her foot onto the nearest petal.

"Breathe," Verushka told herself. "Just breathe."

She shifted her weight and placed a second slippered foot onto the bed of roses. Dimly she recognised the wedding march echoing from the giant brass organ slowly drowning out the quiet murmurs of the crowd.

What fine lace she wore?

Which milliner would see a flourish of customers the following day?

Did she look tired?

Why was she delayed?

Rigorously trained to hear every whispered thought, Verushka tried not to hear the words that washed over her.

And then Cain smiled. It was like a flash of light across a cloudy sky. His smile was as brilliant as the beam that illuminated his form that very first day she stumbled into his bedchamber and named him Apollo. Cain brought the light.

Her steps became more certain, her grip on her brother's arm less constricting and by the time she was halfway down the aisle, and she was practically cantering to the altar.

Verushka recalled a book where an Italian artist detailed a salamander. The reptile like creature was said to withstand incredible heat, almost as if it was birthed from fire. Verushka couldn't help but think she and Cain were like two such animals. Born in the heat of the Bexley Pantry. It didn't matter if they had to walk through life with Hades' flames licking at their heels. It could not touch them. They were forged in the heat of the coals, baked amongst butter biscuits and bedlam.

She reached the dais and Jacob squeezed her arm with a proud glimmer in his silver eyes. He bowed over her hand, brushing her scar with his roughened fingertips and whispered for her ears alone, a slight catch in his voice. "Mother would have been so proud of you." Jay straightened and met his sister's eyes through the flimsy material of her veil. "As am I."

Verushka beamed up at him as he moved to take his place beside the groom. She handed her bouquet of freshly cut orchids to the Dowager Duchess and stepped into the shaft of sunlight that held her future.

She took Cain's outstretched hand, her fingertips gliding across the kid leather of his gloves as smoothly as if it were brushed velvet. Fractals of colour cascaded from the stained glass around their joined hands. Everything they had gone through, every moment that they ached and rejoiced in each other pooled upon that spot. The words of the Bishop filled her ears and she listened as if it was a story she had never heard. Then suddenly it was Cain's turn to speak. He read from the holy book with only his impeccable memory to guide him, and it was as if the world faded away. There was no one in the cavernous church but a maid and the man she loved. Cain's lips moved without faltering and the rich tenor of his voice was just as sure as it had been during the long nights that he had read to her curled up against the warmth of the pantry oven.